


A Magical Christmas in Camelot (or How Merlin Put the Magic Back in Arthur's Christmas)

by Emrys MK (mk_malfoy)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Sick Uther, WinterKnights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-07 23:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8821393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mk_malfoy/pseuds/Emrys%20MK
Summary: Arthur’s love for Christmas disappeared long ago, but perhaps he can  get it back with the help of his ailing father... and someone unexpected.Prompt: Modern Day AU: After years Arthur comes back home to Camelot for the holidays to visit his ailing father and patch things up. He reconnects with his sister, childhood friends, and the one person he could never forget. (It can be as angsty or fluffy as you want).





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Winterknights 2016.
> 
> Thanks so much to my beta, headfirstforwaywardhalos, who did an AMAZING job with this. I enjoy working with you so so so so much!
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

“ _Arthur, it’s snowing!” Merlin said in what could only be described as awe. He grabbed Arthur’s hand and pulled him along as he began to run. “I’ve always wanted to play in the snow!”_

_They ran all the way up the drive, and Merlin beckoned George to join them when they saw him doing some work outside. He politely declined and continued putting up the strings of lights, but when the snowball fight ensued and Arthur pelted the man, he’d no choice but to join in if he didn’t wish to get bombarded again and again._

 

Whether they’d stayed out for an hour or two or three was no longer part of Arthur’s memories, but what stood out about that day was the unadulterated happiness and lack of worry for either him or Merlin. It had been a perfectly unscripted day in the midst of what seemed like a most imperfectly scripted life.

It had been one of those Norman Rockwell days that had never met canvas because the reality would never have translated. That day’s goings-on would only ever live within the memories of the two thirteen-year-olds whose sole purpose that day had been to live in the moment.

As Arthur allowed the memory to fade into the background, he turned into the long and winding tree-lined drive that would take him to his childhood home and was somewhat surprised to see white, twinkling Christmas lights welcoming him. He hadn’t seen the estate lit up in a very long while—the last time had probably been the Christmas his father had kicked Merlin out and told him to never return. That had been more than ten years ago.

And it had also been the day Arthur stopped loving Christmas.

It might as well have been another lifetime because as vivid as the memories of playing in the snow almost thirteen years earlier were, his recollection of the events of eleven Christmases ago—ones that had changed Arthur’s life, and not for the better—were, at best, murky. Percival said he’d probably repressed them because they were too difficult to think about.

That was an understatement.

Unable to deal with thoughts of that day, Arthur did his best to concentrate on the seemingly endless display of lights and how beautifully they brought the surrounding expansive grounds to life.

Seeing the lit up branches swaying in the wind reminded him of the child within that hadn’t been able to contain his excitement each year when the staff had worked diligently to prepare the estate and grounds for the holiday season. Back then, Arthur had thought Christmas magical, the one time of the year he felt as if everything in his little world was right.

It had been a much simpler time, even if the underlying heartache of an absent mother and wife had been ever-present for his family.

Arthur parked and turned off the motor, but made no move to get out of his car as he cleared his throat and willed the emotions to stay far away. He closed his eyes and took in several deep breaths.

He knew he couldn’t put off the inevitable—he had to go in and face his father—but he needed a few moments more to prepare.

As if the previous four hours hadn’t been enough.

Infinity wouldn’t be nearly enough.

Morgana had prepared him for what he would see—she had told him that the once mighty, imposing, no nonsense patriarch of the Pendragon dynasty was a mere shell of his former self—but as much as seeing his ill father worried him, what was equally concerning were the many months that had elapsed without Arthur visiting the man who had given him fifty percent of his DNA. His absence had seemed justifiable at the time but now it merely seemed selfish.

Arthur was ashamed.

He sat and stared ahead at the large home where he had never felt welcomed. He had been raised by nannies and had preferred spending time with the warm and loving staff rather than putting himself in a position to be ignored by his stern and emotionally absent father.

But that had been then, and this was now.

His father was dying, or at least he was extremely ill—Arthur’s father had always been one for theatrics, thus Arthur wasn’t sure if his father wasn’t just saying he was dying to garner sympathy—but whether or not he was dying wasn’t the point, was it? The fact was that Arthur had stayed away when he shouldn’t have. Yes, he was attending graduate school in the US, which was a valid reason to be away, but he could have come home for holidays.

When Morgana had called a few days before, she had told him that it was nearly the end for their father and that her _dear brother_ better get over himself and return to Camelot before it was too late.

Morgana was even more theatrically inclined than their father, which was saying something.

When the chill from outside began to infiltrate his car, Arthur finally unlocked the door and undid his lap belt but made no move for several seconds. He had so many conflicting emotions running rampant through his mind, but one particular image continued to assault his memory: Merlin leaving.

It was an image frozen in time that haunted Arthur, and he would never forgive his father for it.

But Arthur was an adult now, and his father needed him. It was time to move on and let the past lie. Or so that is what Arthur’s flatmate, Lancelot, had told him; he’d said Arthur needed to let go of the animosity if he wanted to move on. Arthur wasn’t so sure about that, but now that he was back in Camelot, he thought his friend might have a point. After all, he’d watched his father never get over anything—he’d held on to all his past hurts and it had paralyzed him. Arthur didn’t want that for himself.

Several more deep breaths later he steeled himself, got out of the car, and everything became a blur as he walked up the long cobbled pathway and knocked on the door. As he waited for someone to let him in he heard the sounds of birds chirping, and listened to the wind whipping through the trees, but it was almost as if he were in a dream.

Someone—probably Gaius—let him in and took his coat and gloves, but if they’d said anything to him Arthur hadn’t been paying attention.

What he did register was the sound of Christmas music playing softly from the drawing room on the far end of the hall. He couldn’t name the tune but it did what it was probably intended to do—it soothed his frayed nerves and gave him the resolve to move on and do what he had come to do. He would bet every pound he had that Morgana had put the music on for his benefit. Come to think of it, it was probably she who was responsible for the lights as well.

Morgana had, from the moment of her birth, been the apple of her father’s eye, and for all the bark and ire that the man had given Arthur, he had showered his daughter with love, acceptance, and just about anything her little heart desired, so if there was music in the house and lights brightening an otherwise dark and foreboding estate on the outskirts of Camelot, it was most likely down to her.

Christmas no longer held any magic for him—Arthur had long ago let go of that childish foolishness—but he knew his sister had meant well. And he appreciated it. More than Morgana would ever know.

Such thought brought the briefest of smiles to Arthur’s face. At least one of the Pendragons hadn’t been irreparably emotionally scarred by their upbringing.

Before he knew it he was standing at the door to his father’s bedroom. He nearly knocked but decided against it. He needed to get this over with. Knocking would only further delay.

The door creaked ominously as it opened to reveal a dimly lit room that looked so vastly different from what Arthur remembered from when he was a child.

Back then, it had been a large forbidden place that had slightly terrified Arthur with its harsh colours and expensive décor at every turn. He could probably count the number of times he had been in his father’s room on one hand.

Now it seemed small and warm, picture frames lining the desk that had formerly been covered with work-related files.

An intake of breath had Arthur turning toward the bed that he had purposely avoided looking at when he entered. His father looked to be sleeping. Someone was standing beside the bed, a notepad in their hand, but they weren’t writing. _He_ was staring at Arthur.

Arthur stood frozen in time, but he wasn’t sure if it was the present or past.

_Merlin._

Arthur opened his mouth to maybe speak, or was it because he was in shock? He wasn’t sure which, but it was as if twenty years had melted away and he was in the playpark with a little boy who was crying because some bigger boys were making fun of him. Arthur had told that boy not to cry, that it was Christmas and no one should cry on Christmas.

That had been the beginning.

Arthur closed his mouth but continued staring at Merlin, who was looking at him with equal surprise.

This was too much. Arthur had resigned himself to what was happening to his father and he was facing that as best he could, but this? Merlin? No. Arthur wasn’t at all ready for this. As much as he wanted to see Merlin, talk to him, and act as if the past eleven years hadn’t happened, they _had_ happened and no amount of wishing would make it not so.

“Arthur?” said that all too familiar voice, two expressive blue eyes looking across the room as if they’d just seen a ghost. Arthur understood. Last he’d heard, Merlin was in Somerset with Freya. What was he doing in Camelot?

“Merlin.” Arthur felt himself deflate as he walked to the other side of the bed where there was a chair. Once he sat down he studied his father intently and could hear the labored breathing. Avoiding looking up at Merlin, he reached out a hand to cover his father’s. It was warm, but skinny and pale. Much too pale. “Morgana told me he had lost weight but I didn’t expect him to look s-so bad,” Arthur forced out, having a difficult time reconciling the father of his childhood and youth with the man he was now watching struggling to breathe.

“He refuses to eat. Morgana said he was waiting for you. Perhaps he was,” Merlin said sadly as he wrote something down on the notepad in his hand.

Arthur wanted to play dumb and ask what in hades Merlin was going on about, but he let out a bitter chuckle instead as he gently squeezed his father’s hand. “Please tell me you weren’t waiting for me, Father. You never did anything to spare my feelings or make it easy for me before, so don’t tell me you decided to start now.” Arthur wanted so very much to laugh but there was nothing remotely funny about the situation.

“He’s not the same person he was back then, Arthur,” Merlin said several seconds later as he put his hand on Uther Pendragon’s forehead.

Arthur sneered. “No shit, Sherlock. He’s dying.” As soon as he said it he knew he shouldn’t have. For Merlin to say such a thing was no small matter to be ignored or mocked, but it was too late, and he didn’t apologize—that was one of the few negative traits Arthur had willingly adopted from his father. “What are you doing here? I thought you moved to Somerset with Freya. Last I heard, the two of you were planning your wedding.” Arthur couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice.

“That was five years ago, Arthur.” Merlin said, sadness in his tone as he looked toward the window.

“And?” Arthur wanted Merlin to continue, but he wouldn’t beg. He didn’t care. He had stopped caring seven years earlier, on the day Merlin had chosen Freya over him.

Well, perhaps he hadn’t completely stopped caring, but Merlin didn’t need to know that, did he? Arthur continued staring at Merlin, willing him to continue, but why would he? It wasn’t as if he owed Arthur anything. Hadn’t Arthur all but followed his father’s directive to cease seeing Merlin? Hadn’t he cut off all communication with him after his father had threatened to disinherit him? “I’m sorry, you don’t owe me anything. It was just a shock to see you,” he said, feeling completely thrown off balance. He very much wanted to run out of the room and get as far away as possible, but he wouldn’t. He was no longer a child.

“We tried to make it work. We were happy, I guess, but Freya called off the wedding; she said she didn’t want to be someone’s second choice.” Now it was Merlin who sounded bitter as he looked into Arthur’s eyes, a wealth of emotion flitting across his face.

Arthur wondered what Merlin was feeling, although he probably need not. It was likely close to what he himself was feeling.

“You’re taking care of him?” Arthur asked as he looked at his father, deciding to change the subject. Thinking about the past was much too painful.

“Yeah. Morgana asked if I would. I wanted to say no. You know how I feel about your father, but Morgana did what she does best and here I am,” he said, looking none too happy. “But I have to say that it’s been an eye-opening experience, Arthur. Your father isn’t anything like I remember him. Yeah, it’s probably because he knows he hasn’t long to live, but he and I have talked. Really talked, and I kind of like him now, as weird as that is to say,” and it was clear that these newly found thoughts were indeed strange for him. “He apologized for keeping you and me apart,” he added, his eyes meeting Arthur’s. His hands trembled and nearly dropped the notepad.

Such a shocking admission made Arthur gasp, and he wondered what he looked like because he’d never ever thought he’d hear that his father had apologized to anyone for anything, most certainly not to his son’s former lover whose sole crime had been to love Arthur.

Uther Pendragon had once loved that little boy he and his children had found crying in the park the same as if he were another of his children, but once that little boy had shown an interest in Arthur that went beyond mere friendship, that had been the end of that, and Merlin had no longer been welcome.

The memories of that time were still impossible to think about without Arthur becoming overly upset. He had only ever loved one person, and to have that person shown the door and told to never return had scarred the young Arthur. To know that Arthur had allowed it without question made all the hurt even more unbearable. “He did?” Arthur thought his voice sounded weak and tired.

“I did,” said a weak voice from the bed, and two tired, sad eyes opened and looked at his son, but he said nothing for several seconds.

Arthur didn’t know what to say or do or think. Actually, he wanted to scream. His father was now apologizing for the biggest hurt Arthur had ever had? What could an apology do now? It certainly couldn’t bring back all the years of happiness that had preceded all the years of heartache. It was too much to take in. He tried valiantly not to show any emotion but he was almost positive he was fooling no one.

“It was wrong of me, Arthur, to keep the two of you apart,” Arthur’s father said as he covered Arthur’s hand with his own and looked at him as if he were searching for the answer to life. “I did so many things wrong and I can never make up for those but I do love you. I always have. I just never knew how to show it or tell you.” He closed his eyes and his breathing evened out.

Arthur looked alarmed, but Merlin shook his head and his face took on a calm expression.

“He’s sleeping. Just sleeping.”

A shaking Arthur opened his eyes wide as if that would keep the tears at bay, but it didn’t work. He felt as though he’d just been punched in the heart. He’d come to see his father—a feat that was always going to be difficult, but now his father had completely turned his son’s world upside down by giving him the one thing he had wanted for so long. It was possibly too late, however. No, it _was_ most definitely too late.

“I need some air,” Arthur said, and he stood and left the room without waiting for Merlin’s reply.

When he stepped outside Morgana was leaning against his car looking at him strangely. Not that that was anything new, but it unnerved him.

“You look like you could use a pint, brother dear,” she said, pushing off the car and walking towards him. “Is he awake?” she asked before pressing a kiss to Arthur’s cheek and wiping off the lipstick she'd left on his face.

“He was for a few minutes. Just long enough to apologize for keeping Merlin and me apart,” Arthur said, bitterness in his voice before taking a deep breath and then letting it go. He was still unsure what to think about that. Had it really happened?

“Oh?” Morgana said, a smile replacing the frown. “And?”

“And what, Morgana?” Arthur said, shaking his head, feeling a headache coming on.

Morgana sighed and rolled her eyes. “You are exasperating, Arthur. Are you going to let Merlin get away again? Not that it ever should have mattered what he thought, but you finally have father’s blessing, or as much as you will probably ever get, so what are you going to do about it?”

That was the million pound question, wasn’t it? If only the answer were an easy one. Perhaps it was, but his heart had taken all it could for one day. He couldn’t face a decision about Merlin. Not yet.

“Please tell Merlin I'll be back in the morning. I need to go now but you know to call me if anything happens, right?”

“I’ll call,” Morgana said almost in a whisper as she turned to go inside. “I’m glad you came, Arthur. I know it’s what father was waiting for.”

“I doubt that,” he said, the very briefest of sneers flitting across his face. That was the very last thing Arthur wanted to hear. How was he to reconcile the father who had destroyed his happiness with the person who had apologized ten minutes ago? How could a person do that? And how could a person be forgiven for that? It just wasn’t fair that his father would wait for near-death to have such a profound change of heart. But that was how it was and there was nothing Arthur could do to change it.

Morgana turned back towards her brother and looked at him with a tenderness that was reminiscent of what Arthur had always imagined would be the way his mother would look at him when she came running back to him, telling him that she was sorry for leaving him all alone.

Arthur coughed and willed away the building tears. He shook his head, not wanting to hear anything else his sister had to say. He was emotionally drained, but she opened her mouth and Arthur roughly wiped at the tear that threatened to fall.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, Arthur, but Merlin and I have talked. He understands why you did what you did. Yes, he’s hurt, but it’s nothing the two of you can’t get through. I know you will never forgive yourself for what you did to Merlin when you didn’t go after him, but I think he has. I know you don’t think you deserve him but you do. I remember the adoration on his face all those years ago when you told him not to cry because no one cried on Christmas and I will never forget the way he looked at you when the two of you discovered that you wanted more than what you had with each other. The two of you would be fools to pass up this second chance.”

Yes, that was true, but then again Arthur was the biggest fool of all, wasn’t he? He always had been. “Thanks for putting on the Christmas music. So many things have changed over the years but you haven’t. You always did know how to calm me when I needed it, and I definitely needed it tonight.” Arthur crossed his arms across his chest and attempted a smile.

Morgana shook her head and a couple of tears made their way down her face, an extremely rare occurence. “That wasn’t me, Arthur. Father asked Merlin to turn it on this afternoon because he knew you would need it when you arrived.”

Twenty minutes later, an emotionally wrought Arthur pulled into his friend Leon’s drive, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for hours, so it was a good thing that Leon and Percival were gone on holiday until New Year’s Eve.

After showering and getting a bite to eat, Arthur was climbing into bed when his mobile beeped. Worried that it could be about his father he reached for it, mentally preparing himself for the worst, but his worry quickly turned to what could only be described as pure panic when a text from Merlin popped up with the words _“Not about your father. Can we talk? I’m outside.”_

“Morgana,” Arthur groused, “you really should mind your own business.” With trepidation and a stomach full of nerves Arthur walked slowly down the stairs and opened the door. “Come in,” he said, resigned.

“Morgana kicked me out—said she would sit with Uther tonight—and told me not to come back until we had talked. I told her I couldn’t possibly leave but she was having none of it and you know how your sister gets when she wants something.”

Yes, Arthur did know.

For the next several hours Arthur and Merlin sat in the foyer, just inside the front door, and talked. About them. About Uther. About Freya. About the future. About _their_ future.

Merlin cried several times. Arthur didn’t. He thought he was probably past tears but the truth was that he felt so completely detached from everything; it was as if he weren’t really where he was. But he did know that Merlin was real, and it was he who Arthur focused on. He held onto the image and feeling of Merlin sitting next to him for dear life.

Nothing was easy between them as they discussed a myriad of things—too much had happened in the intervening years for them to return to how they had been—but they were able to begin setting the foundation for what could possibly be a future for the two of them.

If there was to be a future for them it would involve much work, and possibly more than a few tears, but Arthur didn’t care. He was willing to do just about anything to have Merlin once again in his life, even if it was only as friends.

But he fervently hoped they’d one day be more.

When Arthur began to nod off Merlin helped him up the stairs to Leon’s room.

“I don’t want to lose you again, Merlin,” Arthur said as the sun came up and as he closed his eyes, feeling the bed sinking beside him as Merlin sat on the edge and ran a hand down his cheek.

“You won’t. I haven’t found you again to lose you, Arthur. I know it will take time, but I have all the time in the world. You must know that. Besides, your father orchestrated this, you know, so it would be bad form to not heed his wishes, yeah?” Merlin said, a touch of mirth in his voice.

Arthur wanted to agree with what Merlin said, but he couldn’t forget that his father would never have had to orchestrate this had he not done what he had eleven years earlier. But just because Arthur would never forget didn’t mean he couldn’t move forward and accept that just maybe his father had given him a gift. He allowed a small smile as he opened his eyes. “Incredibly bad form, indeed,” he said as he grinned.

Merlin stood. “I should probably go see to your father.”

Arthur nodded. “Yes, Morgana is many things, but a nurse she is not. I’ll be there later, but don’t forget to call if anything happens,” he added pensively, his frown back. He had waited too long to come home and time was running out. He wasn’t ready. He would never be ready. “I want to be there,” he then whispered, a lone tear making its way down his face.

“I’ll call you. Now get some sleep, and Happy Christmas. I know it’s not at all a happy Christmas for you this year but I wanted to be the first person to say that to you. I haven’t forgotten, you know.”

Arthur attempted to smile. He couldn’t at first, but when Merlin wiped away the tear, and when he leant down and kissed him, he could feel a small smile appearing, and it wasn’t forced.

The touch of Merlin’s lips on his was brief and sweet, filled with so many hopes for a future that Arthur had never allowed himself to dream about. He closed his eyes with the knowledge that just maybe he could once again think of Christmas as magical.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art/Words: A World Without Colour (The Emrys MK Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14709173) by [LFB72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/pseuds/LFB72)




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